


The Day the Devil Arrived

by M_Moonshade



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Desert Bluffs, Diego is Carlos Desert Bluffs Counterpart, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Nazi Nurse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The CEO of StrexCorp is looking for a new location for the company headquarters and finds the industrious tax haven that is Desert Bluffs... and its charming radio host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Devil his Due

**Author's Note:**

> I think it’s acceptable to believe that most of my WTNV fic is going to be based on Nazi-Nurse’s lovely designs. However, it deviates from Nazi-Nurse's initial headcannon, in which Diego and Kevin grew up together.
> 
> This is based on this prompt/illustration (with appropriate lines included): http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/post/66392268178/oh-god-please-draw-diegos-version-of-and-i-fell-in
> 
> Diego's surname comes from this post: http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/post/66649312324/forgive-me-if-youve-answered-this-already-but-whats I know it was meant as a joke, but I couldn't resist.

The heat seeped through his suit as soon as he crossed into desert territory, but the minute the helicoptor’s rotors stop spinning, it hits him like a tidal wave. Diego Científico nearly chokes on it, the taste of sand and hot gagging him, but only the slightest twinge of distaste crosses his features.

Unpleasant, but necessary. The American government has been systematically closing tax loopholes for the past year; it won’t be long before they finish the job, and StrexCorp will find itself owing several billions to the useless glutton. One of his more creative accountants found a different kind of loophole: an old town, Desert Bluffs, one of two sister cities whose founding predates the Declaration of Independence, and which remain legally distinct entity from the surrounding United States. Night Vale is disgustingly Big Government, but Desert Bluffs across the canyon is far more welcoming. No pesky federal taxes— barely any taxes at all, according to further research. But he’s been warned, the town is… unorthodox.

But then, Diego has never cared for the orthodox. During the brief interval that he entertained a psychologist, the so-called professional had thrown around terms like ‘psychopath’ and ‘narcissistic’ and ‘anti-social’.

That phase, like that particular psychologist, had been short-lived.  

Even so, he’s unprepared for all that red. Blood smears the streets; entrails dangle from lamp posts; flecks of gray matter splatter across shop windows. Even the limo that carries him, imported from outside the town, accumulates a maroon veneer over its glossy black finish, with flecks of dried blood creeping into the cracks and dark stains splashing the wheel wells.

A charming effect, really, once the initial surprise wears off. He makes a mental note to invest in a good dry cleaner.

The townspeople watch him from a distance, with apprehension dancing in their black eyes. But upon further examination, it seems they eye everything nervously. Living in this sunblasted abomination of a place can do that to a person. Ever the businessman, Diego takes the advantage when he sees it: in his meeting with Mayor Pablo Mitchell, he emphasizes StrexCorp’s magnificent pharmaceutical division, the crown jewel of the company’s scientific branch. Immediately the mayor’s face brightens. He welcomes StrexCorp to move its headquarters to Desert Bluffs, muttering something about anti-anxiety medications and the city water supply.

That’s what business is, after all: filling a need.

The mayor personally escorts him on a tour of the city, taking him to see the school system (focused too much on the metaphysical and not enough on the sciences), the sports arena (woefully decrepit and in need of rebuilding), the fire station (aren’t those normally meant to put _out_ fires?), and then the radio station.

As radio stations go, it’s not particularly exciting. Blunt, unimaginative architecture. Outdated studio equipment. Rudimentary interior design (blood pools on the floor so deep that Diego’s shoes squelch when he walks, but he’s grown accustomed to that particular aesthetic). But then he’s led around into the sound booth.

“Mr. Científico,” says the mayor. “This is the voice of Desert Bluffs, Kevin Free. Kevin…” Maybe the idiot keeps talking, but Diego stops listening.

Kevin is an average man— not tall and not short, not fat and not thin— but in that averageness is poetry made manifest. His dark hair is the perfect length for carding fingers through; his arms are graced by elegant tattoos of sunbursts and dancing tentacles; his forehead is marked by a long, curved scar; his eyes shine like obsidian. Artistic splatters of blood fleck his clothes. And his smile—

His smile is bright and wide and as contagious as the Spanish Flu, and Diego falls in love instantly.

* * *

 

In the beginning, Diego is cautious. Not shy— never shy— but he is a man of poise and perfection. To rush into any situation is to risk embarrassment and failure, and that is unacceptable. Instead he watches and he waits, as patient as a spider.

He listens to Kevin’s show with nothing short of religious zeal, taking careful notes and filing them away in a personal dossier.

Kevin’s favorite food is yogurt. Within a week, StrexCorp breaks into the yet-untapped dairy market; within a month, yogurt stores are as common in Desert Bluffs as Starbucks in London.

He admits a fondness for ponies. StrexCorp purchases several farms in the American Midwest and has a nearly endless stream of equines imported for the new line of pony petting stations. The supply often runs thin, culled by the citizens’ less-than-gentle nature with animals, but the expenditure is well worth it. Research soon finds that baby racoons and tarantulas are equally popular among the populace. The smile they bring to Kevin’s face is nearly as wide as the one brought upon by petting ponies, and so Diego gives the go-ahead to diversify.

In one of his earliest broadcasts, Kevin reports discomfort at the decrepit seating in the Desert Bluffs Sporting Arena. An endless soak in blood, as it turns out, lends itself to mildewed cushions and rusted seats. On the air the following morning, Kevin mentions the cut he sustained clutching the handrails while climbing the gore-slick stairs, and ponders whether he might have tetanus. That night the Desert Bluffs Sporting Arena is demolished; a state-of-the-art replacement rises from the ashes before the next week’s game. A bouquet of roses— gold as StrexCorp— waits for Kevin in the radio station’s private box.

Some of Diego’s advisors suggest that these projects are hemorrhaging money. The new advisors, stepping over their predecessors’ mangled remains, point out that worker productivity is at an all-time high.

StrexCorp’s name is on the official paperwork, but Diego buys the radio station with his own personal funds: Kevin will belong to him and him alone. Overnight the station is renovated by a team of interior designers and retrofitted with the bleeding edge of broadcasting technology.

When Kevin arrives for work the next day, Diego is waiting for him. He lounges elegantly on top of the new mahogany station desk, his black-rhino-leather shoes unsullied by the cruor of the floor.

“Hello, Kevin.” His smile was predatory to begin with, but it only widens at the sight of the radio host’s crimson blush, the mad bob of his adam’s apple.

“Am I dreaming?” Kevin says abruptly. “It’s just, I didn’t think I was scheduled to have another good dream until next month, and I wouldn’t want to take more than my fair share, but—” Diego tilts his head, serpentine, and Kevin’s voice dries like water over desert sand. “—but I really don’t want to wake up right now.”

The weakness and despair and unrestrained _need_ in Kevin’s eyes brings a pleasant swoop to Diego’s stomach. It’s everything he wanted and yet it’s so much better.

“Come here, Kevin.” His rings flash gold as he gestures and Kevin approaches, as unresistant as a marionette to its master. “I’ve purchased the radio station. Do you understand? You belong to me now.” He traces one finger around the shell of Kevin’s ear, and down the curve of his jaw. “Body. Mind. And Soul.”

The radio host is shaking. It seems the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees is Diego’s finger under his chin. His eyes are hooded. Glazed. His face is flushed. His pulse races under Diego’s touch.

His lips move, but it barely comes out a squeak: “Neat!”  

Never has Diego heard a more endearing sound. The word becomes one of his favorites, second only to Kevin’s name.

He clamps one hand around the back of Kevin’s neck, firm yet gentle, and pulls him close. Kevin’s lips are as sweet as the voice that flows through them. His body is soft, pliant, but buzzing with a desperation that’s barely restrained.

Diego could lose himself in that body.

But not yet.

When he pulls back, Kevin’s mouth follows his, gasping and hungry, but Diego stills him with a finger to his lips. Quivering, Kevin obeys.

“After your broadcast, you will come to my penthouse.”

A whimper and a shaking nod.

Another kiss, a breathed command: “Don’t keep me waiting.”

There will come a time when he bends his Kevin over this mahogany desk and fucks him bloody, when he holds him so tight his manicured nails tear through skin, when he lets Kevin see every twisted passion and dark desire without the polished veneer, and Kevin will worship him all the more fervently for having seen it.

But not tonight.

Tonight there will be sweetness, and roses, and romance.

Tonight, everything will be perfect.


	2. Hello Eileen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powerful men tend to crave domination, and she would be more than happy to indulge him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scoutmistress Eileen is another of Nazi Nurse's creations: the sexy dominatrix Desert Bluffs counterpart to Scoutmaster Earl Harlan. http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/post/67943175249/honeyed-rose-i-was-literally-right-in-the
> 
> The illustration is by Nazi Nurse. You can find the original post of the image here: http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/post/68298360756/welcome-to-night-vale-fanfiction-hello-eileen

The first time Eileen saw him, it was from afar.

It was a town meeting, thrown by Mayor Mitchell on behalf of the new company that would be moving its headquarters to Desert Bluffs. She called it from the moment he stepped onto the stage: Diego Cientifico was the head of the snake, not just some pretty face to impress the stockholders. Not that he wasn’t pretty— he had a strong jaw and a dazzling smile, but his speech lacked enthusiasm. There was more to be gained from the predatory set of his shoulders, the way he ceded the podium back to the mayor like he was a lesser man, the way he looked at the crowd like they were ants under glass.

She thought then that she would enjoy breaking him. Powerful men tend to crave domination, and she would be more than happy to indulge him. Her lips curled into a smirk at the thought of those straight white teeth closing around a gag, those slender wrists in rope. She’d make sure he didn’t get distracted, all right.

The thought broke her out of her fantasy. He was distracted. He kept looking off to the left. Over and over again, his eyes flitted to the wall, lingering there before sweeping once more over the crowd. What was he looking at?

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

To the left stood the line of reporters— an even baker’s dozen. Her smile softened as she picked out Kevin Free. The radio host had been her high school sweetheart… sort of. More like best friends, back when she’d been too shy and mousy to properly flirt with him. She’d developed some confidence since them— a lovely side effect of adopting thigh-high stiletto boots and a riding crop— but sweet Kevin saw her advances as friendly ribbing. He really was too cute for his own good.

He was taking notes on the speech in a little, human-leather-bound notebook. Two of the pages stuck together, and as he worked them apart he dropped his pen. He bent over to retrieve it, giving Eileen a much—appreciated view of that lovely, perky ass.

A flash of movement on the stage. It was subtle, but her scout training had taught her to always be alert.

Diego’s attention had flicked back to the reporters, though lower than before. The corner of his mouth curled up, ever so slightly—

No.

Absolutely not.

The— _the motherfucker was ogling Kevin!_ How dare that depraved pervert _objectify_ him like that?

Needless to say, any interest she’d had in the businessman dissolved instantly.

 

She kept a close eye on StrexCorp and its CEO after that point. She brought her Girl Scout troop into StrexCorp’s headquarters on a monthly basis, ordering them to look for faults. Weaknesses. Bad business practices. But even her most cunning Scouts came up empty. Even though the employee mortality rate was high, StrexCorp’s products and services were top-notch.

And their list of services was expanding. Most of the corporate takeovers were standard, but a few caught her attention. A sudden influx of frozen yogurt stands. A wave of pony petting stations on every street corner. A new sporting arena was erected almost overnight.

It wouldn’t have been too out of the ordinary, if the purchases hadn’t each followed a mention of the same subject on Kevin’s broadcast.

The manipulative bastard was wooing him! Trying to buy her Kevin’s affections, like he was some cheap whore!

Absolutely unacceptable!

Which was why she had taken this evening to demonstrate the Corporate Espionage merit badge. She silently scaled the wall of StrexCorp’s headquarters, then rappelled down the service elevator shaft to the records vault. She made short work of the security system and even shorter work of the vault’s combination. Shameful, really, how such a powerful company could have such a shoddy hold over its assets. They deserved what they got.

She stepped inside quickly, her stilettos clicking against the poured concrete of the vault as she made her way to the documents directly involving Diego. She didn’t have to ruin the company— just him. A big enough scandal would sully his reputation to the stockholders; they could force him to resign, and send him into exile somewhere far away from Desert Bluffs— and from Kevin.

She dug through— there had to be something, some lead some—

Oh.

Oh dear.

She pulled a contract out of the file folder.

But that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. He’d bought the radio station. Not StrexCorp. Not one of its subsidiaries. Diego.

“That’s not the only copy of that contract,” said a venom-smooth voice from behind her. Diego stood framed in the vault, adjusting his golden cufflinks like he was out for an afternoon stroll. He flashed a razor smile. “In case you’re getting any ideas.”

Eileen straightened, glancing over his shoulders. No bodyguards. No faceless henchmen. Well, that was one way to handle this: if she couldn’t remove him as a businesswoman, then she could always count on good old-fashioned Desert Bluffs tradition.

“Buying the radio station,” she said with a shrug. “It’s ballsy, I’ll give you that.”

“As is breaking into our archives.” Damn that oily grin. “I give you points for style. And fashion.”

“What, this old thing?” She flicked the fingers of one hand through the air, showing off her manicure. The other settled on her hip and slid discretely to the clip of throwing stars on her belt. One through the eye would bring him down nicely. And then a few to the jugular. She’d even had the foresight to bring an organ bag— her living room could use redecorating.

“Hands off the utility belt, Scoutmistress.” Diego pulled out a gold and black handgun— a Desert Eagle, by the look of it— and trained it on her forehead. “Whatever it is you’ve got planned, I assure you: my aim is better, and my bullets are faster.”

Bastard.

She drew her hand carefully away from her belt.

“I won’t argue with a speeding bullet,” she said. “I’m less convinced about the aim.” She tipped her head at the sash draped across her catsuit. “I’m the instructor for both the Sharpshooting and the SniperScope merit badges.

Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to make him smile wider! “You are a woman of impressive skills, Scoutmistress. Which is why it would be such a shame to kill you.” He tilted his head. “In fact, I’d like to offer you a job.”

What she meant to say was “Go fuck yourself with a rusty spoon.” What came out was “I already have a job.”

“No need to worry. It won’t interfere with your duties as Scoutmistress. In fact, I imagine your network of little girls will be quite the asset.”

“You keep my girls out of this,” she snarled.

His grin practically stretched from ear to ear. She’d have to carve through bone to pull it any wider. Not that she’d mind doing just that.

“You’re a friend of Kevin Free, correct?”

“Don’t even start,” she spat. “I know all about your scheme to get your filthy hands all over him—”

The twist in his smile left her blood cold. “Dear Scoutmistress, ‘scheme’ implies a future tense.”

“You— you—” Her vision flared red. “If you hurt him, you will _beg for death_ , I swear by the Smiling God.”

“Such fire. It’s what cemented you as my first choice, you know. Other candidates had the physical prowess. The market is virtually saturated with capable individuals. But none of them have nearly your protective streak. Especially not for Kevin.”

Wait.

What?

The fire receded from her vision by a fraction. She was definitely missing something.

“Generally these interviews go much smoother when you listen to what job you’re being offered, Scoutmistress.”

“Then quit dancing around it and spit it out already!” she snapped.

For the love of the Smiling God, could he just stop grinning for five seconds?

“I want you for a bodyguard. Kevin’s bodyguard,” he added before she could spit a rejection at him. “As I’m sure you’re aware, a man in my position has enemies. Such individuals might see him as a target if he isn’t suitably protected. I intend for you to deter such attempts.”

“Or maybe we can pre-empt them entirely,” she said, mockingly cheerful. “If hanging out with you is going to put Kevin in so much danger, how about you just, I don’t know, _get the hell away from him_ _?_ ”

His face hardened. “If you aren’t interested in the position, I can always find someone else to fill it.” With a twist of his heel, he turned away.

The bastard had his back to her. One good throwing star to the spinal column, that was all it would take. Then he’d be gone for good, and Kevin would be free.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t say why— a proper Scout never hesitates from the kill, after all— but by the time she’d grabbed her throwing star, Diego was gone.

 

The next morning she stopped by the station, under the pretense of updating the Scouts’ events for the community calendar. She wanted to see the extent of the damage for herself— see if she needed to train the girls for their Strategic Assassination badges just yet.

But when she stepped into the studio, Kevin was smiling. Not that drugged grin worn by everyone who still drank the town water— though he hadn’t exactly been avoiding the tap— but a real, genuine smile. Hell, he was practically _glowing_ , and not from radiation poisoning, either. He was all but dancing as he tidies the organs on the sound booth.

“You look…” There was no other word for it, was there? “Happy.” Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Ooh, Eileen!” He sounded one note away from breaking into song. “I had the most wonderful night! And— oh! But I shouldn’t kiss and tell. Can you keep a secret?”

Even as her heart splintered in her chest, she couldn’t help but find the way he bit his lip adorable.

“Of course.” If her voice shook, he was too elated to notice. “Anything for you, Kevin.”

He clapped her hand between his. “I have a boyfriend! His name is Diego— do you remember, he works for Strex?— I know he seems all charming and suave and dreamy from a distance— celebrities, you know?— but we went to dinner last night and— oh, Elaine, he’s even better in person! He’s sweet and thoughtful and romantic. And he’s such a gentleman. I don’t think I’ve ever had a date treat me like that!”

“Like what?” Elaine asked warily. If he said a word— if there was the slightest hint of something wrong—

“Like I’m a treasure,” Kevin sighed. “Like I’m interesting and handsome and smart and perfect!”

Eileen caught him in her arms— he looked about ready to swoon— and kissed him gently on the forehead, over the scar of his third eye. “That’s because you are, silly.” She stepped back. “I’m glad you had fun. He sounds like a real great guy.”

She poured him into his chair and excused herself from the booth, leaving the pieces of her heart behind.

As soon as she stepped outside the station, she had her phone to her ear. “Diego.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised you have my personal number.”

That was enough smalltalk. “I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent.” Maybe it was just her imagination, but a sliver of relief accompanied the satisfaction in his voice. “I’ll have Human Resources contact you to negotiate terms.”

“You do that,” she said. “But there’s one thing you sure as hell better get through your head, Diego: I will protect Kevin from everything and everyone. No exceptions. If you ever— _ever_ — hurt him, I’ll wear your skin for a corset. Do you understand?”

“Understand?” Diego laughed. “My dear Scoutmistress, that’s why I chose you.”


End file.
